Chapter 1

[Part One]

Trion was the most poverty-stricken city found on the continent Spira. Its conditions had been worsened by decades of unruly management, yet its terrible state has been strong enough to withstand its inhabitants' untamed treatments. Those who lived in Spira's other cities cringed at the fact that there were actually people who'd call a place like that "home".

Despite its poor status, its vast population was remarkable, for Trion's population had grown steadily over the years because of the countless people that chose to live there. It's where people go when they are outcasts or unwanted from the public, almost like a home for the exiled, or for those who have felt like they had given up on life. Families that ended up moving there were either on the verge of becoming homeless or had already lost everything in their possession.

Life didn't have much value in Trion. Many had gone insane and even more were suicidal. Drugs and alcohol were like candy. Anyone who wanted it could get it anywhere from anyone. Some wasted away their lives from drinking, drug addiction, and sex. People were able to get away with their appalling transactions because Trion was a city that had no leadership, for no one ever wanted to run such a poorly maintained place like it, which gave the people who lived there an advantage: they didn't have any rules or any laws to obey. They just did as they pleased without a care in the world.

There would be nights that several streets throughout the city would be vibrantly lit and filled with wild people to clutter the scenes. Every night, people stayed out late until the break of dawn hanging out with their mischievous friends doing whatever comes to mind. Teenagers often went out to party at other peoples' residences, or disturbing the silence of the evenings with hazardous drag races. Most of the adults get drunk from whiskeys and beers at Trion's most popular bar, Pub Medusa, or to do drugs and get laid at Bicmoy Lane, home of the Trion prostitute girls. Parents would try to protect their youngsters from the bad influence that spreads through the city by staying in their homes hoping against reality that they would be safe from harm.

If there was one thing that undeniably existed in the streets of Trion, it was violence. Violence usually came from people's haunting pasts, but in most cases, it came from the Red Wolves, Trion's lethal gang. The Red Wolves were a large group of people with various age ranges. Each member had their own story, but had one thing in common: their need to make others suffer the pain they've had to endure through the years of their life. They wouldn't waste a single breath on a sick toddler or even on a homeless orphan. As long as there was suffering, nothing else mattered. There wasn't anything that anyone could do about it because authority was nonexistent in this city. This place was more like a dangerous neighborhood with evils lurking within the shadows than what they'd call "home".

It was a disheartening place, yet these people cherished it for the fact that it was all that they had left. But as fate would have it, there would be one. Through the gray fog that caged in gloomy clouds of sorrow that neither the strongest gust of wind nor the most treacherous tornado could ever sweep away, there would be one. One that would want to escape this city of despair; one that would want to leave and make something of their life; one that would run. That one person was no one other than him.

[Part 2]

The screeching sound of a revving engine startled a homeless family from slumber. "What in the blaze is that?" the father complained. He slothfully crumpled off the pages of "Daily Gaia", Spira's worldwide newspaper that he used as sheets, as he got up from the damp floor with a back full of throbbing bones. The noise woke a resting woman who was lying on a filthy used mattress that she'd found in the dumpster months before. Careful not to wake the small child wrapped between her arms, she spoke delicately to her husband.
"It's probably just another drag race, honey," replied his heavy-eyed wife. "You know how crazy these kids are nowadays." Seeing that her obstinate husband barely cared to listen, she sighed heavily, "Come on, Cid, don't worry about them. Just go back to sleep."
"I will," he snorted. "Once I see the jerk making all that loud racket." His hand massaged his lower back with an attempt to soothe the soreness of sleeping on an unevenly hard ground. Shoving aside torn pieces of curtain, he wiped away thick spider webs and a thin layer of dust off a cracked window with an old handkerchief to get a clearer view of the activity outside the building.
"What's going on, Mommy?" a little boy about ten years old had awoken. He yawned loudly, but hushed with a frowned look from his mother. "Sorry..." he mumbled apologetically.
Sighing once more, she held her son closely, "It's your father. He's gone to check who's making all that noise outside." She shook her head with disapproval at her husband and told her son to go back to sleep.
"Hilda!" Cid whispered hoarsely a moment later. "Get over here!"
"What...? Why?" despite her exhaustion, she lifted her fatigued body up and walked towards the window. It was a cold night, she realized as she wrapped her aged sweater tightly around her.
"Lookie what we got here!" he pointed out the window towards a bright light shone from the headlights of a motorcycle. Someone was crouched down besides it with tools scattered about on the ground.
"It's just someone fixing a motorcycle!" Hilda said giving him a weak shove on the arm. She began walking away when he grabbed her hand pulling her back.
"Yes, yes, I know," he replied waving his hand. "But look at who is fixing it." Hilda exhaled impatiently; she always gets cranky if she doesn't get enough sleep. She began to grow restless and started to walk back towards her sleeping son when something about the stranger had caught her attention. Whoever it was had just finished repairing the motorcycle and was wiping their hands in a cloth smeared with black oil, but it wasn't just the stranger that caused her eyes to widen; it was what they were wearing.
"Oh my Lord!" Hilda cried shockingly. Her jaw hung loose with astonishment while she pressed her fingers against the corners of her lips.
"See? I knew my gut wasn't growling for nothing", he chuckled patting his abdomen.
"It's not your gut telling you anything, it's the dinner you skipped last night", Hilda said with rolling eyes. Clasping her hands together, she cried, "But this is wonderful! Do you think he'll be able to help us?"
"I don't know," Cid said carefully. He scratched his gray-specked beard in deep thought. "But we need all the help we can get."
Hilda stood by her husband unable to comprehend that their prayers might finally be answered. "I just hope it's not too late."

[Part 3]

The motorcycle's engine whined with a weak roar as he turned the handles of his Black Ninja XRV. His arms drooped to his sides as a heavy sigh escaped from his lips. Crouching down to pick up the tools that lay scattered about the ground, he threw them into the toolbox with frustration launching it back into the small compartment under the seat of the vehicle. He shook his head feeling a new rush of anger pumping in his veins. What's wrong with me? He thought. Ever since he arrived Trion, he was struck with a loathing emotion that was unexplainably familiar.

Wiping the smudges of oil off his hands with an old cloth, the teenager got up to examine his motorcycle for any other kinks that could get in the way of his driving. He'd been cruising through numerous cities for hours and it wasn't until then that he decided to give it a tune up. Ever since he left his home in Galbadia, the thought of taking a break for rest and food hadn't even crossed his mind, not until he arrived his destination: Trion.

A light breeze ruffled the spikes of his blonde hair. He seemed completely unfazed to the cold weather despite his loose attire. He dressed in his casual military garments composed of simple navy blue clothing, which he chose plainly because he wanted to be comfortable for his long ride ahead. Leaning back against the seat of his bike, he looked at the gloomy street surrounding him.

It was a well-lit street filled with roads busted by large cracks and potholes. Roots and weeds of plants had grown between the empty spaces of broken pavement framing the road, revealing a worn sidewalk in desperate need of renovation. Between them were curbs littered with trash. He saw a starved neglected dog rummage through the piles of rubbish near a rusted bench while rats picked on a dead piece of road-kill by a tall wooden fence dressed with spray painted artwork and ripped posters that managed to stay pasted onto the rotting pieces of wood. Down the street to his left was a bridge rimmed with a steel fence where a drunken couple stumbled home in laughter. Down the street to his right were tall abandoned buildings with an eerie silence that screamed in need of a transformation. In front of him was a rickety apartment building. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of a drag race and music blasting in the background. Maybe it was just the faraway noises blurring through the breeze, but he could've sworn that he could hear soft murmurs nearby.